Within lamenting hushened calls,
Shepards watch thine burning sea.
As bussoms burn with froths of lies,
I shall avenge you, this I decree.
Lost art thou, to seven layers.
A trembled ground from which you cry,
With sword and dagger at my side,
To free you, I would surely die.
Worry not, the chains that bind,
I shall crush with mine own hands.
For power beacons within mine heart,
To crumble towers into sand.
But thy doth not knowst,
To slay the beast of sorcery.
The sword I bring is my mind,
And the dagger is mine poetry.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 3:05 PM UTC
Within lamenting hushened calls,
Shepards watch thine burning sea.
As bussoms burn with froths of lies,
I shall avenge you, this I decree.
Lost art thou, to seven layers.
A trembled ground from which you cry,
With sword and dagger at my side,
To free you, I would surely die.
Worry not, the chains that bind,
I shall crush with mine own hands.
For power beacons within mine heart,
To crumble towers into sand.
But thy doth not knowst,
To slay the beast of sorcery.
The sword I bring is my mind,
And the dagger is mine poetry.
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